Chapter 100 I’m coming to apologize
1005 Words
Hearing Adam’s words, Hadrian laughed—a deep, relieved laugh, as if a mountain had been lifted from his soul.
His body could no longer hold human form. It began to fracture, crumbling like ancient stone.
Black smoke dissipated rapidly into the air. Piece by piece, he faded from existence.
“Ahhh… such a long time…”
“My wife… my child… my brothers… my friends…”
“I’m coming to apologize… Will you forgive me?”
His consciousness unraveled. His voice, his presence—gone. Erased from the world.
All that remained was lingering black smoke and a pile of dark ash on the factory floor.
True annihilation. No grave. No remains.
Forced in life to s*******r everyone he loved. In death, reduced to dust.
Adam gripped the black sword still impaled in his chest and sank to his knees, staring silently at the ashes.
He’d known Hadrian for barely ten minutes—but in that sliver of time, he’d glimpsed the unbridgeable chasm between humanity and the Deities… and their Acolytes.
Hadrian’s suffering was so profound, so grotesque, that even as an outsider, Adam felt his blood run cold.
In the face of such hatred, even life and death felt trivial.
He took a slow, shuddering breath, fighting to steady the storm inside him.
The suffocating weight in his chest almost dulled the agony of his wound.
“Damn it, kid! You still alive?!”
A thunderous roar shattered the silence.
Levin charged in like a storm, dropping to one knee beside Adam and gripping his shoulder with surprising gentleness.
The fleeing Acolytes hadn’t stood a chance. Levin had crushed most of them, captured one alive—and raced back the moment he sensed something was wrong.
But he’d still arrived too late.
“Hold on, you i***t! I’m getting you to a healer—now!”
His usual gruff voice was laced with panic.
Adam let himself be lifted, then—without warning—clenched his jaw and *yanked* the sword from his chest.
***Shhk!*** Blood sprayed as the blade tore free.
“Hey! What the hell?!” Levin barked, too stunned to stop him.
Adam raised a hand, cutting off the outburst. “I’m fine. My body… regenerates fast.”
He ripped open his shredded shirt, revealing his chest.
The wound—deep enough to expose bone—was already knitting itself shut at an unnatural pace.
Levin stared, dumbfounded. *That’s not healing. That’s cheating death.*
After a long pause, his shoulders finally relaxed. The tension bled from his frame.
This was supposed to be a basic student trial. If Adam had died… Levin wasn’t sure he could’ve lived with himself.
Once convinced Adam wasn’t about to collapse, Levin smacked him upside the head.
“You’ve got a stupidly owesome ability like that and didn’t say anything? Nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Adam stumbled from the blow—but grinned. No argument.
This terrifying, scarred man who looked like he’d escaped a maximum-security prison?
Turns out, he was kind of… sweet.
Adam doubted anyone in the world had ever described Levin that way.
With the crisis over, Levin pulled a thick cigar from his space-superpower ring and lit it.
“You smoke?” Adam asked, surprised. He’d never seen it before.
“Not often. Just after a fight.” Levin exhaled a smoke ring. “Don’t pick it up. Bad for you.”
Adam nodded, then added quietly, “Thanks.”
“For what?” Levin frowned.
“If you hadn’t shown up when you did… I might not have walked away from that last strike.”
Even now, the memory of Hadrian’s killing blow sent a chill down his spine.
In their final exchange, Hadrian had named the technique before vanishing:
***Sonic Soul Sever.***
Adam wouldn’t forget that name anytime soon.
Levin waved him off, almost amused. “Don’t mention it. I *should’ve* been there. I’m your instructor—if you die on my watch, especially when you’re already level-5, that’s on me.”
Adam rubbed his nose, offering only a wry smile.
He lived by transaction—value for value. Emotional gratitude felt foreign.
He knew better than to say, *“Let me pay you for saving my life.”*
Levin would’ve punched him into next week.
So “thanks” would have to do.
Later, Levin dragged the captured Acolyte—limp as wet laundry—back to the shuttle. After hastily bandaging his own gut wound, he gathered all students.
Half would patrol the district in shifts; the other half stayed on the bus, rotating every few hours.
Levin refused hotels. Only here, surrounded by his students, could he guarantee their safety.
For the next three days, Adam heard Levin’s voice booming through the bus—mostly furious phone calls.
“You’re sending *no* level-5 operatives?!”
“What good is that?! My *student* is level-5!”
“Do you even understand what I’m telling you? The situation here is *different*!”
“Wait—*what*? Are you sure?!”
He slammed the steering wheel so hard the dashboard cracked.
Sitting nearby, Kenny had his feet propped up, scrolling on his phone. “Classic bureaucratic rot,” he snorted. “Dead weight clinging to power. But who cares? They’d never dare pull that crap in front of Levin.”
Adam said nothing. He’d seen something in Levin these past days—a deep, almost archaic sense of duty. A generation of superhumans who still believed they were the world’s last line of defense.
He wouldn’t judge it.
“Alright. Got it.” Levin hung up.
He turned to Adam, eyes sharp.
“Recall everyone. We’re leaving.”
“Something big just hit. Acolytes launched coordinated attacks in *eight cities*—all centered around Orienta University.”
“This scale… hasn’t happened in over a decade.”
Levin’s gaze hardened as he stared out the window. He slammed his fist on the wheel one last time.
“The old days… they’re coming back.”
- Writer
